


Such a Lonely Soul

by menel



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fantasy to Reality, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Hallucinations, Holidays, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Regret, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: Logan takes some time off during the Christmas holidays to spend at his cabin. He thinks it'll be peaceful and quiet, a time to rest and recharge, until a Scott-hallucination starts visiting him. Logan doesn't question his unconscious. He accepts his hallucination of Scott as long-buried desires finally manifesting themselves, until he understands that something else is happening.Written for the 2020 Marvel Reverse Big Bang.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Scott Summers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was so thrilled to be able to nab Talkative's art as a pinch hitter. It was like getting a second chance. \o/ 
> 
> Many thanks to Flightinflame for doing another superb (and fast! So fast!) beta job at the last minute. Maybe one day I'll be able to send you a fic with time to spare. 😂 Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> As for the story, this fic is a hybrid of movie-verse and comic-verse. It takes place after _X-Men: The Last Stand_ and alludes to other X-Men films, but there's also some major ret-conning of events that are drawn from the comics.

**Art by Talkativefangirl13**

The first time Logan saw him, the figure didn’t even register. Not really. Logan had been in the process of bringing in firewood when he caught the figure out of the corner of his eye, a flash of brown hair, a light blue shirt. Logan had turned around to look – he didn’t like the idea of strangers on his property – but no one was there. He sniffed the air, trying to pick up the stranger’s scent on the wind. Nothing. Logan decided that his eyes were playing tricks on him. The snow sometimes did that, made you see things that weren’t there. Logan shut the front door of his cabin with his foot and forgot about it.

The second time it happened, Logan was outdoors doing some work on the genny. She was ancient, probably needed to be replaced, but Logan was too stubborn to do so. He grew attached to things, even his ancient generator. He’d keep fixing her up until he couldn’t, only _then_ would he replace her. There was a shimmer in the corner of his right eye as he bent over the genny. Not moving from his position aside from turning his head to the right, he saw the figure in the distance, a shadow in the tree line. The silhouette was familiar, as was the posture: ramrod straight, hands in the jacket that the person was wearing. _That jacket was much too light for the weather_ , Logan thought. It was a spring windbreaker and would do nothing against Canadian winter cold. Logan didn’t budge and neither did the figure. His eyesight was keen but for some reason, he couldn’t quite make out the features on the stranger other than the tint of the red sunglasses. _Red sunglasses_. Just the reminder of them stung. Red sunglasses were uncommon, but not _that_ unusual. Ruby quartz, on the other hand . . . 

Logan looked back down at the genny before him. He took a deep breath. It’d been a while since he’d thought about Scott. A good, long while. He thought he was done with all that – regret, grieving, laying the past to rest. And if no one really knew how much the Boy Scout had actually meant to him . . . well, so much the better. But now his eyes were playing tricks on him, and it was damned inconvenient. That figure standing in the tree line wasn’t real. He was _sure_ of it. His mind was a screwed-up place, and he’d been through somethin’ like this before. Jeannie. Japan. Back then, Red had appeared in his dreams. Talked to him. Teased him. Gave him some good advice. (Ha! Logan’s unconscious. Giving him _advice_. Didn’t that just take the cake?) But Red hadn’t been _real_ , just like this Scott lookalike wasn’t real either. _It was the holiday season_ , Logan mused. Being out here in the quiet isolation of his cabin instead of the warmth and comfort and familiarity of Westchester – it was makin’ his mind play tricks on him. Makin’ him see what he wanted most – and couldn’t _have_ – for Christmas.

Storm had disapproved of Logan’s decision to spend the holidays out here. She hadn’t said it outright when Logan had asked for leave from school and X-Men responsibilities, but he could smell the disapproval seeping out of her pores. Still, Logan was impressed that ‘Ro had managed to hold her tongue. Storm was known for speaking her mind. Maybe on some level, she understood that Logan needed this time to himself. Logan had changed. He wasn’t running anymore. He’d proven his loyalty to the X-Men; he’d accepted the X-Men as his family, and they’d accepted him in return. No one was going to question those things about him. But sometimes, you also needed to get away from family, to have a bit of a break. That was what Logan needed now. But he’d be back. He knew it in his bones.

If only his unconscious had gotten the same message . . . 

Logan knew that when he looked up again the figure would be gone. He turned his head to the right once more and was greeted by an empty tree line. As expected. But Logan didn’t think it would be the last time he’d see his ‘guest’ either. His unconscious didn’t work that way.

* * *

“Was wonderin’ if you’d ever get close enough to say anythin’,” Logan drawled. 

He was on the front porch of his cabin, leaning against the verandah rail. It was fucking cold, but he didn’t mind. The cold would make the warmth of the fire inside even sweeter when he went back in. So, he was leaning against the rail by the front steps of his cabin, breathing in the clean air and . . . paradoxically . . . enjoying a cigar. The figure had shimmered into existence to the right of him, at the far end of the verandah. He was leaning against the railing with his arms crossed, dressed in the same light spring jacket and khakis. Logan took a risk and turned to his right to get a proper look at his guest. The figure was close enough. Now, he’d know for sure whether or not it was . . . 

Scott walked towards him, mirroring Logan’s stance as he leaned against one of the support columns of the verandah. He wasn’t close enough for Logan to touch, even if Logan stretched out his arm. (And what would happen then? Would his hand simply pass through Scott’s form?) But this was still the closest his Scott-hallucination had ever been. Logan drank in the sight of him. Scott looked exactly as Logan remembered: fit, athletic, dressed in that smart, preppy style. If only Scott’s scent would drift to him on the air. The lack of any scent was how Logan knew that this was all in his mind. Suddenly, he was grateful for his isolation. Out here, he could be as crazy as he wanted with a Scott-hallucination keeping him company.

“Not gonna say anythin’?” Logan prodded, when the Scott-hallucination continued to stare at him. _Scott looked amused_ , he thought. As amused as Summers could look behind those ruby quartz glasses and not exactly smiling. Nothing Summers could say or do at this point would dampen Logan’s good humor. 

“What do you want me to say?” The Scott-hallucination finally broke his silence. 

Logan grinned around his cigar. The recreation was perfect. It _sounded_ like Scott. It was the same timbre of voice, the same nonsensical tone. Logan reveled in it.

“A ‘hello’ would do,” Logan suggested, puffing on his cigar. “Or how about, ‘Hey, I’m back from the dead.’” 

“That wouldn’t be true though,” Scott quietly chastised. 

“Don’t ruin the mood, Summers,” Logan shot back, but his good humor hadn’t subsided. If anything, the slightly combative banter felt good, felt _familiar_. 

“What am I doing here?” Scott said instead. 

“Why’re you asking me?” 

“Didn’t you call me here?”

Logan shrugged, taking another puff of his cigar. “Maybe,” he hedged. 

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Scott pointed out. 

That was true. If anything, Logan had _wanted_ to see the Boy Scout. “What took you so long?” he said, not even trying to hide the accusation in his voice. 

“Took me so long?” Scott echoed, perplexed.

“Yeah,” Logan said, realizing how unreasonable he was suddenly being, but also unable to stop himself. _Damn_. Even with Summers dead, some things didn’t change. “What took you so long to visit me?” he accused, as if this were Scott’s fault. “Even Jeannie’s dropped by a couple of times in my dreams. You? You’re just a silent motherfucker.” 

As if to prove Logan’s point, Scott stared at him silently. 

“What?” Logan taunted. “Got nothin’ to say to that?” 

“I didn’t realize how much you enjoyed arguing with yourself,” Scott eventually said, pushing himself off of the column. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll come back,” he went on, “when you’re feeling more reasonable.” 

“Hey –” Logan interjected, but it was already too late. There was nothing but empty space and cool air in front of him. 

_Motherfucker_.

* * *

The fourth time Scott appeared resulted in Logan burning himself and nearly dropping the pot roast that he’d spent several hours preparing. 

“Motherfucker!” 

Logan grimaced at the unexpected sight of Scott leaning against the kitchen counter opposite the oven and gas range. He regained his hold on the burning pot containing his pot roast, although he’d lost one of the oven mitts that he’d been using and had to place his bare palm on the handle of the pot. That _burned_.

“I had no idea you could cook,” Scott said matter-of-factly, oblivious to Logan’s pain and general shock. “Jubilee calls you the ‘Sandwich Guru.’” 

Logan grumbled as he put the pot roast down on the heating pad that he’d laid out at the center of the kitchen table, right beside the sourdough. “Yeah, well. Ain’t got no reason to cook back at the mansion,” he muttered, the burn on his hand already fading. 

“What’s the occasion?” Scott asked, coming closer and peering into the pot to get a better look. 

“There’s got to be an occasion?” Logan shot back, still irritated. 

Scott’s expression plainly said, _Yes_.

“No occasion,” Logan conceded, still grumbling. “Just felt like it, ‘kay?” 

Scott didn’t say anything, but the quirk of an eyebrow told Logan plenty. 

“And why you gotta be so _silent_?” Logan went on. “I damn near had a heart attack, you appearing just like that.” 

The amused upturning of Scott’s lips was added to the quirk of his eyebrow. It incensed Logan at the same time as it made something warm settle in his chest.

“I’m in your head, remember Logan?” Scott told him. “Hallucinations aren’t _noisy_ , unless you want to make me so.” 

_Yeah_ , Logan thought. _I know just what noises I’d like to hear you make_. He quickly banished those thoughts, as though Scott had suddenly possessed the gift of telepathy. Then again, Summers had never needed telepathy to be able to read Logan. That aspect of their relationship had grated on Logan more than he’d ever let on, that Scott could read him so _clearly_ ; whereas Logan never quite knew where he stood with the field leader of the X-Men. 

“What’re you doing here, anyway?”

Scott sighed, making himself comfortable in the kitchen chair opposite Logan. “I can never win with you,” he pointed out. “First, it’s ‘Why didn’t you visit me sooner?’ Now, it’s ‘What’re you doing here?’” He paused. “I said I’d be back when you were in a better mood,” he reminded Logan. “I thought a domestic Wolverine would fit the bill.” He gestured at the pot roast. “It looks good,” he added. “Wish I could eat it.” 

Logan accepted the peace offering, taking out a ceramic plate and some cutlery before joining Scott at the table. Scott watched as Logan served himself. Logan took a bite of the pot roast. Flavorful. And the meat was tender. He broke off some of the sourdough, scooping up the soup of the roast with the bread. 

“Good?”

Logan nodded, satisfied. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing the man in front of him. Scott wasn’t wearing the windbreaker this time, just a crisp Oxford shirt paired with the ever-present khakis. “What brings you here, Slim?” he asked again, this time without the accusation in his tone. He was genuinely curious. 

“I should be asking you that, Logan,” Scott replied. “Spending the holidays alone when you have a school full of kids and fellow X-Men waiting for you? You’re not reverting to old ways, are you?” 

Logan laughed at that. “That’s more direct than Storm ever was when I left,” he said, still chuckling. “You never did beat around the bush, Summers.” He shook his head, spooning some carrots and potatoes onto his plate. “Not reverting to old ways,” he confirmed. “Just wanted some peace and quiet for myself, y’know?” He glanced up. “Maybe ya don’t know,” he amended. “You were always the team-first guy, worryin’ about everybody else before thinking about yerself. Thank god, you had Jeannie to worry about you.” 

“Did you worry about me, Logan?”

Logan met the even ruby-quartz gaze, though he still couldn’t see behind the glasses. He didn’t answer the question, standing up instead. “I need a beer,” he told his guest. When he turned around from the fridge, he half-expected Summers to be gone, but Scott was still at the table, patiently waiting for him. “You don’t approve?” Logan questioned, sitting back down. “Me, being out here by myself?” 

“I’m not here to judge.” 

Logan chuckled. “Funny,” he said. “That’s all I thought you did when it came to me.” 

“Maybe at the start,” Scott conceded. “But after a while . . .” he trailed off. “That judgment was in your head,” he finished off, without a shred of irony.

Logan nodded, staring hard at a potato on his plate before finally spearing it and putting it in his mouth. “You were always the best measure of what I could be,” he said, hardly believing the words he was saying. “Especially after you were gone.” He looked up, wondering what Scott would say to that. What would the _real_ Scott have said? Would he have laughed? Told Logan that he was being delusional? Would he have smiled? Would he have said, ‘Good job’?

This Scott was looking at Logan evenly, not reacting at all to Logan’s confession. _Yeah_ , Logan thought. This _is what Scott would’ve done_. 

Scott let the statement slide, just as terrible as Logan when it came to these big, life-changing admissions. “What’s for dessert?” he asked. 

“There’s a limit to my culinary skills, Summers,” Logan retorted. 

“No apple pie?” 

“Don’t push it.”

* * *

After that meal, the Scott-hallucination became a fixture in Logan’s life. He wasn’t with Logan 24-7, but sometimes it felt like it. Whenever Logan felt like speaking to him, he’d just magically appear. And who knew that Logan would have so much to say to Scott? ‘Course, that was the rub. Logan wasn’t actually speaking to Scott, which was why this was so easy. Comfortable. It could’ve never been like this in their actual lives.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Scott said, settling beside Logan on the sofa in front of the blazing fire. Behind them, Logan’s record player was belting out some classic rock. No cheesy Christmas music for the Wolverine. 

“You don’t think we would’ve become friends eventually?” 

Logan almost choked on his whiskey. “Friends?” he coughed, as though the word were alien to him. He looked at Scott a little incredulously. “Us?”

Scott was unperturbed. “It makes sense,” he said calmly. “We were already good teammates,” he explained. “Weren’t you ever amazed by how well we worked together in the field? How once we set our differences aside, everything went so smoothly? I’ve never been in tune with someone else like that before. Not Storm. Not Hank. Not even with Jean. And I trained with them since we were teenagers.” Scott paused, his gaze landing on Logan’s tumbler a little longingly. (Logan felt bad that he couldn’t offer Scott a drink.) “I think we could’ve been friends, Logan,” he said at last. “Good friends, given enough time, if that’s what you wanted.” 

Logan swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. “Sure, Slim,” he agreed, too flippantly. “Because my charming cigar habit would’ve grown on you.” 

“Maybe not that particular habit,” Scott snarked. “But you have other ‘charming’ habits.” He grinned. “Look at us now. We’re getting along just fine, and we’re not in a life-or-death situation.” 

Logan nearly choked on his whiskey again. “Damn, Slim,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Always suspected that you had a sense of humor, but even this is a bit much.” 

“I’m not joking.” 

Logan laughed. “We’re gettin’ along right now ‘cos yer nothing but a figment of my imagination,” he said, smiling broadly. “And I’m just a crazy lonely fucker, talkin’ to myself all day in my cabin.” He gave Scott a challenging look.

Scott shrugged, making Logan smile at the gesture. “I still say we would’ve been friends,” he said stubbornly. 

Logan picked up the bottle beside his tumbler, pouring another two fingers. _Friends_ , he thought. _Yeah, that would’ve been nice_.

* * *

The only time Scott turned up in his bed had startled Logan, enough that he actually fell out of it. 

“What’re you doing here?” Logan had barked from the wooden floor of his cabin, his legs tangled up in the duvet that had toppled over the side with him. 

Scott was peering down at him (still dressed in day clothes, Logan absently noted). “You keep asking me that,” he replied, “even though you should already know the answer. Really, Logan. I’m not the one making up the rules. I wouldn’t be here at all, if you hadn’t summoned me.”

Logan untangled himself from the duvet and stood up, bristling with irritation. He was generally happy to see Summers, but not tonight. Tonight, he felt . . . ambushed. 

“The real question,” Scott continued, seemingly oblivious to Logan’s annoyance, “is _why_ you want me in your bed.”

Logan didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to think about it because he’d been thinking about it _waaay_ too much. In fact, given how much he’d wondered about having Summers in his bed since the hallucinations started, it felt inevitable that Summers _would_ wind up here. But for some reason, he didn’t think it would be this soon. All the mental gymnastics that he was doing regarding his Scott-hallucination was laughable. What did Logan think was happening? That he was courting Summers? Dating him? Was he worried that they were moving too fast? What did it matter if Scott wound up in his bed? It’s not like they could _do_ anything. Logan shook his head, as if doing so would keep his impending headache at bay. 

“When you were dreaming of Jean, did she wind up in your bed too?”

Logan’s gaze snapped to Scott, the question rudely pulling him out of his ruminations. That was the last straw. He couldn’t deal with Summers tonight. He wrapped the duvet around himself and stalked out of the bedroom, ignoring how preposterous it was that he was running away from a _hallucination_. 

Logan sat outside in his darkened (and cold) living room, waiting. He kept his mind blank, refusing to think about Scott. Or Jean. Or the team. The school. The X-Men. He sat outside in the dark and let his mind drift. It may have surprised a lot of people, but the Wolverine knew how to meditate. And when his mind was settled and he felt at peace, he returned to his empty bedroom.

* * *

“Feeling better?” 

Logan was relieved to hear the familiar voice. It’d been five days since the ‘bedroom incident’ and Scott hadn’t paid him a visit. The absence was starting to make him worry, as though his unconscious had shut off their contact and left him in limbo. The Wolverine did not like to be left hanging. He wanted closure whenever he could get it, which was why this thing with the real Scott was so awful. How it had ended between them was just so awful. He’d never said anything important to his field leader, had never made the kind of effort in their personal relationship that he should have. And he couldn’t even explain _why_. Had he thought that there’d always be time? Had he been a coward? Had he really been so clueless that he hadn’t realized how important Scott was to him until Scott was gone?

The questions chafed. The uncertainty aggravated him. Logan hated _not knowing_. And he wasn’t so delusional to believe that his Scott-hallucination would provide him with the answers that he sought. No, the Scott-hallucination was a way for him to address those issues, to finally put them to bed. _Bed_. Ha. 

“Yeah,” Logan replied, knowing that Scott was standing beside him on the range. “I’m feeling better.” He glanced to his left, giving Scott’s flimsy summer attire a once-over. “I know yer not real,” he began. “But do you gotta keep dressing in Oxford shirts and pressed pants? I keep thinkin’ you should be freezing your ass off in this weather.” 

Scott chuckled. “Put me in some winter gear next time,” he suggested. 

“Winter gear,” Logan repeated, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” 

“I hope you feel like company.” 

“Company?”

Scott pointed upwards and Logan followed the motion. There was a blot in the sky, growing rapidly as it headed towards them. It landed several yards in front of them, wearing a black and white uniform that Logan knew well. _Was it thermal?_ he wondered. Why wasn’t Northstar freezing his ass off either? 

“Hey Logan!” Jean-Paul said with a cheery wave as he walked over, his feet sinking into the snow. 

Almost instinctively, Logan glanced to his left again, wondering if Scott would still be there. He was surprised to see that Scott was, his expression impassive as Jean-Paul joined them. If there was any need to confirm that Scott was in his head, it was this moment. Jean-Paul was completely oblivious to Scott’s ‘presence.’ Scott gestured to Jean-Paul and Logan realized that he’d never returned the greeting.

“Jean-Paul,” he said sedately, when the other mutant stopped in front of them. “What brings you here?” 

“Can’t I visit an old friend?” Jean-Paul teased. He looked Logan up and down. “You look fine,” he said, sounding pleased. “The way Storm was talking, I thought you’d be wallowing in depression.” 

“Storm sent you here to check on me?” Logan questioned. The idea didn’t surprise him, but it didn’t please him much either. 

“Storm, Hank, Nightcrawler,” Jean-Paul said casually. “Even Iceman, but I think he was calling on behalf of Rogue.” 

“Well, ya can tell them that you’ve done yer due diligence,” Logan said, a bit too curtly. 

“Come on, Logan,” Jean-Paul chastised. “Don’t be like that. Your friends are worried about you. _I_ was worried about you.” 

“Because me spending some alone time in my cabin is out of character?”

“Nooo . . .” Jean-Paul hedged, but he scratched the back of his head, a sure sign that there was more to come. There was a weighted pause between them, which Jean-Paul finally ended. The speedster had zero patience. “Look,” he said. “Christmas is in a few days. Why don’t you come to the city and spend it with me and Kyle?” 

“You mean, with yer family,” Logan translated, already thinking of Aurora and the other members of Alpha Flight. Christmas with the Beaubiers would be just swapping one superhero family for another. 

“No,” Jean-Paul admonished. “Just me and Kyle.” 

“Yer not spending Christmas with yer sister?” Logan questioned. 

“Aurora’s got something big planned for New Year,” Jean-Paul explained. “So, I made a deal with her. Kyle and I get a quiet Christmas, and in exchange we’ll join her big shindig for New Year’s.”

“A quiet Christmas, huh?” Logan mused. “I s’ppose that’s why you want me around as a third wheel?” 

The look on Northstar’s face was priceless. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, a little dismayed. “You’re not a third wheel, Logan.” 

“Sure feels like it,” Logan argued, crossing his arms. He was exuding stubbornness. 

“Go,” Scott suddenly said, although Logan was the only one who heard him. Scott turned to him, placing a hand on Logan’s arm. It was a ghost’s touch. Logan didn’t feel a thing, though he was staring intently at Scott’s hand on his arm, willing the touch to be real, willing the warmth and pressure of Scott’s hand against his arm. 

“Go,” Scott said again. “Spend Christmas with Jean-Paul and Kyle. I’ll go with you,” he added. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the city for a change of pace.” 

Logan was staring so intently at his Scott-hallucination that Jean-Paul let out a small cough. When Logan looked back at him, he could see the slight confusion in Jean-Paul’s eyes, as though Logan had spaced out and forgotten his presence. (The truth wasn’t _that_ far off.)

“You won’t be a third wheel,” Jean-Paul was saying again, and by god, he sounded sincere. He looked it, too. He almost looked _contrite_ , as though he’d unintentionally offended Logan. (Yeah, it would take a lot more than a verbal faux pas to offend the Wolverine.) 

“Save it, Jean-Paul,” Logan said, probably too harshly. 

Northstar looked crestfallen. Scott was glowering at Logan. Even though Logan knew that there wasn’t a real optic beam behind those ruby quartz glasses, he could feel the intensity from Scott’s gaze. He relented. 

“I’ll come to yer Christmas . . . what is it? Dinner? Lunch?” He looked at Jean-Paul for confirmation. 

“Lunch,” Jean-Paul said brightly. His whole demeanor had changed. Damn, Northstar was like an excitable puppy. “Kyle will be so happy,” he added, hugging Logan on impulse. Thankfully, the hug was too quick for Logan to return, so all he had to do was stand there stiffly and accept it. Hugging was not one of Wolverine’s fortes. 

Beside him, Scott was smirking.

* * *

The days leading up to Christmas were quiet, and for the most part, Logan and his Scott-hallucination fell back into their old routine. Scott never turned up in his bed again, and Logan couldn’t decide if that disappointed him or not. (It did.) Scott also pointed out that Logan would have to bring something for Kyle and Jean-Paul when they went to lunch. 

“Bring something?” Logan repeated. “Ya mean, like a gift?” 

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Scott said, as they walked along the trail at the back of Logan’s cabin. He was bundled up in winter-appropriate gear now, so he didn’t look incongruous next to Logan outdoors. “Even if it wasn’t Christmas, it would be good manners to bring something,” Scott added. “Let’s go into town after lunch and pick something out.” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Wine would be the easiest,” Scott replied. “Or something nice to drink after a meal. A cognac, perhaps?” 

“Alcohol,” Logan translated, nodding. “Works for me.”

They did as Scott suggested and drove into town after lunch. By now, Logan was so used to Scott’s presence that he spoke to Scott normally, as though Scott were really there. It didn’t matter that there were other people around. It earned him a lot of strange looks and some gentle ribbing from Scott that Logan should get one of those discreet Bluetooth headsets. 

“That way, people will think that you’re actually talking to somebody on the phone,” Scott explained. 

“Like I’ve ever given a rat’s ass what other people think,” Logan replied.

Somehow, the afternoon had turned into a full-on Christmas shopping spree. While Logan refused to get a tree, he did begin picking up some things for the kids back at Westchester, especially the ones he knew wouldn’t be going home for the holidays, either because they didn’t have a home to go back to or because their family had abandoned them. It was a sad story, one that Logan had seen happen time and time again. Xavier’s school saved lives. Logan knew this first hand. Most of those kids would’ve ended up on the streets – or in worse situations – if it hadn’t been for the school.

Aside from shopping for the kids, Logan had also bought presents for the team. He liked Marie’s present best – an elegant pair of black lace gloves. She no longer needed to wear gloves since she’d taken the cure, but glove collecting was a habit that hadn’t stopped with the removal of her power. This pair would go well in her collection. Privately, Logan thought Marie might need that collection again someday. Word on the street was that the cure wasn’t permanent in some cases. Logan hadn’t looked into it himself – hadn’t brought it up with Marie either – but the possibility remained at the back of his mind. Sooner or later, the X-Men would have to investigate. There would be severe consequences if the so-called ‘cure’ only proved to be temporary, not just for Marie but for everyone, mutant or not. Magneto. Mystique. Reversing the cure would reverse the balance of power. Again. Logan shook his head, dispelling those thoughts. Scott was speaking to him.

“You don’t even have to buy a tree,” Scott was saying. “There’s a forest behind your cabin. You can cut one down.” 

“You seen the size of those things?” Logan said incredulously. 

“Find a young tree,” Scott suggested. “Or trim one of the bigger ones. Use the rest for firewood.” 

“Trim it, huh?” Logan said dryly. “Cutting down a coniferous ain’t exactly like goin’ to the barber’s.” 

Scott was laughing and Logan looked at him fondly. He also caught the eye of the woman who was walking in the opposite direction on the other side of ‘Scott.’ She was staring at Logan like he had a few screws loose. _Yer not wrong, lady_ , he thought, nodding politely at her. She looked away and hurried her pace in response.

“I’m beat,” Logan said. “Shopped out. Let’s call it quits,” he said, heading in the direction of his pickup. 

“You can blame it on me,” Scott told him, easily keeping up with Logan’s quick step. “But it’s not like you _didn’t_ want to go shopping today.” 

Logan harrumphed in reply, but it was true. The shopping _had_ been nice. He didn’t feel like such a Scrooge.

* * *

Logan’s good Christmas feeling lasted well into the night. Scott may not have been able to convince him to get a tree, but Logan had conceded to some Christmas decorations. There was a wreath now outside the front door, and some tinsel and other Christmas ornaments hanging over the fireplace. There were even bunches of mistletoe on some of the tables. (Logan didn’t see the point in hanging mistletoe anywhere, since it wasn’t like he’d be kissing somebody underneath them, no matter how much he wanted to). That included the dining table that he almost never used. But Logan was using it tonight, the gifts that he’d bought laid out around him as he slowly wrapped them. Gift-wrapping was not a forte of the Wolverine’s either, but Scott insisted that the effort wouldn’t be a waste. 

“Why you gotta wrap gifts anyway?” Logan grumbled. “Kids’ll just tear the wrapping off.” 

“Not all of them,” Scott answered. 

“Like you,” Logan teased. 

“Like me,” Scott agreed. “Besides, it’s the element of surprise. Half the fun is removing the wrapping paper.”

Logan couldn’t argue with that, so he kept on cutting tape and wrapping presents, no matter how horrid his gift-wrapping skills. The exercise was making him appreciate the convenience of boxes in a way that he hadn’t before. The irregularly shaped gifts were just . . . irregular. Meanwhile, Dean Martin’s mellow tones played in the background. Scott had perused his old record collection and found the dusty Christmas albums. _Christmas with the Ratpack_ was up next. 

Logan capped his evening off with cognac. The fine brandy was one of Scott’s best suggestions and Logan had ended up buying two bottles: one for Kyle and Jean-Paul, the other one for himself. He was sitting on the couch in front of the fire, which was starting to burn low, feeling warm and content. He knew when Scott had settled beside him.

“Good day?” 

“Good day,” Logan agreed. 

Scott leaned back into the sofa. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Logan. There was no pressure to speak. It’d been like this too, Logan reflected, at the end of some of their missions. A quiet sort of camaraderie. He hadn’t recognized it at the time – or perhaps he’d taken it for granted. He saw it now for what it was. He wondered if Scott had seen it too. _Of course_ , he had, Logan thought. The Boy Scout was perceptive. Clueless, maybe, in other matters. But not this. Not whenever team dynamics had been concerned. Logan felt a small pang. _Friendship_. He could’ve had that with Scott. A real friendship. And who knows? In time, maybe that would’ve lead to something more.

Scott stood up, stretching phantom limbs that couldn’t be sore. Logan liked that his Scott-hallucination went through the motions, paid attention to the little details that heightened the verisimilitude of his presence. Summers had always been meticulous when it came to details. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Scott said, looking down at him. “You’ve got a long drive ahead.”

Logan nodded. They’d decided to drive to Toronto on Christmas Eve, even if traffic was sure to be murder. Logan didn’t like the idea of leaving early on Christmas Day, just to get to Kyle and Jean-Paul’s place tired and harassed from a long drive. This way, Logan would be able to check in at a hotel, get a good night’s sleep, and leave at a normal hour for lunch the following day. He was mentally psyching himself up for that lunch. It’s not that Kyle and Jean-Paul were bad company – far from it. It was more that his social skills – what little he had – were rusty. But Scott would be with him. He’d get through Christmas lunch with those lovebirds as long as Scott was by his side. It might almost pass for a double date. The thought made him smile. 

“What is it?” Summers asked. His gaze was piercing. Logan could feel it through the ruby quartz glasses, and this wasn’t the first time. 

“Nothin’,” Logan answered. 

“You have a dopey look on your face,” Scott told him. “That _never_ happens. What is it?”

Logan looked into his cognac, at the swirling amber liquid. He inhaled the rich, sweet scent of the brandy that drifted to his nostrils. “I was just thinking,” he said at last. “That tomorrow could’ve been a double date for you and me, if I’d had the balls to ask you out, if you’d have been interested in something like that.” He glanced up, wondering what sort of expression would be on Scott’s face. 

Scott looked thoughtful, the soft smile that he gave Logan in return making Logan’s heart beat that much quicker. _Ridiculous_ , Logan mentally chastised himself. Ridiculous that he should feel so strongly for a _hallucination_. Christmas lunch was turning out to be a good idea, after all. Any longer by himself out here in the boondocks and he was really going to lose it.

“I would’ve been,” Scott said. “Interested,” he clarified, at Logan’s puzzled look. He sounded so certain that Logan felt that pang in his chest again. Who knew his unconscious could be such a kind and accommodating place? 

“Let’s make it a double date,” Scott went on. “Why not? Nobody else will know but you and me.” 

Logan chuckled, despite himself. “A double date,” he repeated, as though saying the words out loud would make them a reality. “A double date.” He lifted his glass to Scott in a toast. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Slim.” 

“Shotgun picks the tunes,” Scott said in reply.

Logan smiled into his cognac. He didn’t turn around to watch Scott walk away. Aside from those early days, he never actually saw Scott appear or disappear like some ghost or phantom. He was simply _there_ whenever Logan thought of him. He preferred this sort of good-bye, the illusion that Scott was headed to his own room for the night and would see Logan in the morning. 

_A date_ , Logan mused. Imagine a Christmas lunch being a first date. What a nightmare. Logan chuckled again. For him and Scott? It was par for the course.


	2. Chapter 2

Logan was in a good mood for their road trip. In regular traffic, the drive from Montreal to Toronto would be approximately five hours and a half. He added two hours for the holiday season. It was roughly the same distance as his drive from New York to Montreal, only he’d used a motorbike for that trip. Winter bike riding wasn’t for everyone, but Logan loved it. Hell, he loved bike riding in any season. It was another thing he regretted being unable to do with Scott – bike riding. They would’ve had a hell of a time on the summer trails, whether in Canada or New York. Summers had been a great bike rider, an absolute speed freak. He’d been good with bikes, cars, planes, boats – anything that had an engine and could go fast. It’d been a paradoxical element of his character. Summers had liked going fast, testing the limits of his machines, but he’d never been out of control. Logan had been attracted to that paradox. In fact, seeing Summers break that superhuman control had always been one of Logan’s secret desires. He’d wanted to be the cause of it too, the one to push Summers over the edge. It was the main reason he’d been so combative towards Scott at the start. But that antagonism had eventually faded. Logan wasn’t much for introspection, but one day he’d just stopped being such a hard ass. Sure, he’d still give Summers grief, but only when it was warranted. Logan wasn’t an asshole _all of the time_.

There were no assholes to be found on the trip to Toronto. Scott was good company and he promised Logan that they wouldn’t be listening to Christmas music for five straight hours. Just like his generator, Logan’s pickup was ancient. No CD or mp3 players installed, just an old tape deck and the accompanying collection of mixtapes in the passenger side dashboard. 

“You have _mixtapes_?” Scott said a little incredulously. “Somehow I didn’t think you’d have the patience for something like that.” 

“Who says I made them?” Logan retorted, good-humoredly. 

That earned a questioning eyebrow from Scott, but Logan wouldn’t say anymore. He just grinned to himself and Scott settled for the radio and an oldies station (that was playing classic Christmas music) to get their road trip started.

They talked. They joked. They enjoyed the scenery. The only thing they couldn’t do was switch places to give Logan a break from driving. Logan got his break the old-fashioned way by making a pit stop to fill up the gas tank and then having a meal at the diner opposite the gas station. The diner was surprisingly empty, despite being on a busy stretch of highway. 

They arrived in Toronto by mid-afternoon. Scott had chosen the hotel. It was a mid-priced hotel with extremely good rates given the holiday season and its prime location in downtown Toronto. In fact, the hotel was near enough to Kyle and Jean-Paul’s apartment that they could cut through the park and walk there the following day. At least, that was the plan. 

Logan collapsed on the queen-sized bed as soon as he arrived, boots and all. 

“Don’t you want to wash and change first?” Scott asked, the barest hint of reproval in his tone.

Logan saw out of the corner of his eye as Scott settled on the other side of the bed. There was no requisite dip or shift in weight as Scott stretched his legs, no fresh clean Summers scent that carried over to him. Just an impression, an image of Scott on the bed, with his boots off and his legs crossed at the ankles as he looked at Logan expectantly. 

“Summers,” Logan said, adopting Scott’s matter-of-fact voice. “This is one those times when you should be thankful that yer not real, so I don’t have to offend yer hygienic sensibilities. Or maybe it’s the other way ‘round? That _I_ should be thankful that yer not real, so I’m not offending yer hygienic sensibilities.” 

“And yet here we are,” Scott noted. “Talking about my hygienic sensibilities.” 

Logan sighed loudly. “I ain’t changing,” he groused. “I’m beat.” He shut his eyes. 

“You’ll miss dinner,” Scott warned. 

“I’ll order room service,” Logan replied. He was already dozing off. He caught a flash of movement to his left. He wondered if Summers would still be there when he woke up.

* * *

“Hey.” 

Logan woke on his side. He may have fallen asleep on his back, but he’d rolled over to his left and nearer to the center of the bed during his sleep. Now he was facing Scott, and the other man was mirroring his position. He was near enough to touch, if only there would be something to touch. 

“What time is it?” 

“Late,” Scott answered. “But room service is available until midnight, if you’re hungry.” 

Logan’s stomach growled. Scott grinned. 

“I guess I’m hungry,” Logan admitted. He was about to sit up, but then paused, looking at Scott again. “Y’know,” he said slowly. “I always wondered what color yer eyes were . . . behind the glasses. Don’t s’ppose you could tell me?” 

Scott looked thoughtful. “Blue,” he said at last. 

“Blue?” Logan repeated, a little surprised. 

“You don’t like blue?” 

“Nah, it’s not that. Just thought they’d be brown, like yer hair.” 

“Well, they’re blue.”

Logan nodded, sitting up this time. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, a little sorry now that he hadn’t bothered to take off his boots. It was a little later, while he was splashing his face with water in the bathroom that he’d think about Scott’s words. Had his unconscious made up that detail about Scott’s eyes being blue? It was honestly something that he’d never considered before. He’d simply _assumed_ that Scott’s eyes had been brown, even if he’d never been able to confirm it. But the unconscious was a place where desires also reigned. Maybe he’d secretly wanted Scott’s eyes to be blue and that desire was manifesting now? He shook his head. That didn’t sound right either, but it was too late to challenge his unconscious. In general, Logan wasn’t one to challenge his unconscious. He preferred to keep it buried where it belonged. Still, the detail about the blue eyes continued to nag at him. His interactions with Scott thus far had all made sense, had some basis in reality, were rooted in desires that Logan had kept at bay. Admittedly, it was a highly stylized version of reality (Scott was a ‘living’ fantasy, after all), but even then, the blue eyes just didn’t feel right. (Later, when Logan understood what was going on, he’d understand why the detail about the ‘blue eyes’ unsettled him so much.)

He was channel surfing by the time room service arrived. He’d basically ordered diner food – more upscale burgers and fries to go with the overpriced beer in his mini-bar. 

“Can’t believe I didn’t think to bring my own beer,” Logan grumbled, as he pulled out a bottle. 

“At least they have Moosehead,” Scott told him. 

“We’re in Canada,” Logan replied. “They _better_ have Moosehead.” 

Scott couldn’t help but laugh at Logan feeling slighted over _beer_. 

“And why didn’t _you_ remind me to bring beer?” Logan accused, after he’d taken a pull. “Mr. Strategist? Mr. Planner? Mr. Contingency?” 

Scott held up his hands in surrender. “Why don’t you eat that burger before it gets cold?” he suggested.

Logan wasn’t really upset, and Scott knew it. “Fine,” he said, dragging himself to where the room service tray had been placed on the table. “Not gonna comment on my healthy eating habits?” he needled. 

“Nope,” Scott said, not taking the bait. “It’s the holidays. Who eats healthily this time of year?” 

“You would.” 

“Maybe.” 

They watched a couple of the late-night talk shows while Logan ate. Logan was too full to go back to sleep afterwards, so they ended up watching a B-grade Christmas horror slasher movie while Logan’s digestion did its thing. 

“Very appropriate for the holidays,” Scott said. 

“Sure beats any of them Hallmark Christmas movies.” 

“Agreed.” 

“You gonna stay over tonight?” Logan wondered aloud. Scott always left him before he went to bed. _He wouldn’t know anyway_ , Logan rationalized, _once he fell asleep_. But it would be nice. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Wouldn’t be askin’ otherwise.” 

“Then I will.” 

What Logan didn’t know, precisely because he was asleep, was that Scott _did_ stay over the whole night. If Logan had known, it would’ve been another puzzling development, even more puzzling than the detail of the ‘blue eyes.’ Scott didn’t sleep – because that wasn’t possible – but he went through the motions of it. When Logan fell asleep, it was with Scott beside him; when he woke, Scott was still there.

* * *

Logan stood outside Jean-Paul and Kyle’s door fidgeting. He’d made a bit of an effort to dress up – nothing as fancy as a suit and tie – but he wasn’t wearing his usual plaid shirts and lumberjacket. 

“Let’s not go for the Mountain Man look,” Scott had said. 

“Even if I _am_ a Mountain Man?” 

“ _Especially_ because you’re a Mountain Man.” 

Now, Scott was looking at Logan a little expectantly. He gestured at the door when Logan didn’t make any move to ring the bell. “Rip the Band-Aid off,” he recommended. “Kyle and Jean-Paul don’t bite. And even if they did, you’re the Wolverine.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Logan muttered, but he pressed the doorbell.

It was Kyle who opened the door with a big smile. He looked like he was about to hug Logan – it was in his nature to do so – but one look at Logan’s face made him think better of it and he refrained. That didn’t dampen his cheerful greeting. 

“Logan!” he exclaimed. “You made it! Jean-Paul said you were planning to drive. That couldn’t have been pleasant with the holiday traffic.” 

“Coulda been worse,” Logan admitted. He held out the bottle of cognac, a large red bow tied around the neck. “Merry Christmas,” he said. 

Kyle accepted the bottle, glancing at the label as he did so. His eyes lit up. “Nice,” he said, giving Logan an appreciative glance. “You know your brandy.” 

“Logan’s been around forever,” Jean-Paul explained, coming to the door. “He knows his _alcohol_. Glad you made it,” he added. “Kyle and I had a bet on whether or not you’d turn up.”

“Yeah? Who won?” 

“Me.” Kyle beamed. “Come in, come in,” he said, grabbing Logan by the arm and ushering him inside. 

Logan threw an aggrieved look over his shoulder at Scott, who was still standing out in the hallway. Scott gave him a half wave, grinning all the while. _The little shit was enjoying this too much_ , Logan thought as Jean-Paul shut the door and blocked Scott from his view. It didn’t matter. Scott was walking down the short entrance hallway beside him a moment later. There was something to be said for the convenience of hallucinations.

“Lunch’ll be ready in about twenty minutes,” Kyle was saying. “You got good timing, Logan. Jean-Paul, why don’t you get Logan something to drink?” 

“Beer okay?” Jean-Paul asked. 

“As long as it’s Canadian,” Logan replied. 

Jean-Paul laughed as he got Logan’s drink. Kyle disappeared into the kitchen to check on his cooking. When Jean-Paul returned and passed an ice-cold open bottle to Logan, Logan said: 

“Kyle’s a full-service boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“I’d be lost without him,” Jean-Paul confessed. “If Christmas lunch were up to me . . .” he trailed off, giving Logan a sheepish grin. “Well, you wouldn’t want to know what would be on the menu.” 

“We’d be having Christmas lunch with Aurora,” Logan replied, clinking the neck of his bottle against Jean-Paul’s in a toast. 

“Touché,” Jean-Paul agreed.

Logan wasn’t much for small talk, but he stayed out in the living room with Jean-Paul while Kyle bustled about in the kitchen and the dining room. 

“You need some help back there?” Jean-Paul called out once. 

To which Kyle replied with a definitive, “Nope! Keep our guest entertained.” 

“Like I said,” Jean-Paul said to Logan. “ _Lost_ without him.”

Lunch itself was a warm and homey affair. No one sat at the head of the table. Instead, Kyle and Jean-Paul sat on one side opposite Logan (and without their knowledge, Scott). Scott had stayed quiet during Logan’s conversation with Jean-Paul, as though saying something would be considered rude, even though Jean-Paul wouldn’t hear him. But Logan could tell that Scott was paying attention. It wouldn’t be like Summers to do otherwise. Logan, on the other hand, knew that if their roles were reversed, he would’ve provided a non-stop running commentary to try and distract Scott or make him behave inappropriately. It was just how they were both wired. 

“The personal and professional relationship works for you guys,” Logan observed, when Kyle and Jean-Paul began bickering over Jean-Paul’s ‘brand.’ 

Kyle made a face, but Jean-Paul laughed.

“This guy,” Kyle said, flicking a thumb in Jean-Paul’s direction, “could make my job a whole lot easier. His brand was worth ten million dollars this year alone, but he keeps breaking contracts, always rushing off to save someone or something.” 

“That’s what my job _is_ ,” Jean-Paul argued. 

Kyle ignored him. “Then, he tells me, ‘It’s just money. I can always make more.’” 

“It _is_ just money,” Jean-Paul said, slinging an arm about Kyle’s shoulders. “And we _can_ always make more.”

Kyle wouldn’t be swayed. “Not if you treat your business partners like that,” he said stubbornly. “I _know_ what you do is important,” he added. “But what I do is important in its own way, even if I’m not saving the world. I _care_ about your brand and your welfare. This is my contribution to what you do.”

Logan felt the back of his neck prickle. The good-natured ribbing between the lovebirds had transformed into something else. He could feel it, and he picked up his wineglass and drank, waiting to see what Jean-Paul would say. It would get uncomfortable if they aired their relationship problems in front of him. He hoped that wouldn’t happen, but Jean-Paul probably had as much sensitivity as he did, which didn’t bode well.

Jean-Paul hadn’t moved his arm from around Kyle’s shoulders, although Logan could detect the fine line of tension in Kyle’s posture. He took another sip and discreetly glanced at Scott. Summers was staring straight ahead, watching the two with a thoughtful expression. 

Finally, Jean-Paul sighed. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I don’t like this idea of a long-distance relationship. It’s too hard. I miss you too much. We should move in together. In New York City,” he added. “That’s where I’m based and it’ll be easier for you to work there as well. Aurora doesn’t need you here, right?”

Kyle looked gob smacked, and Logan did an admirable job of not choking on his wine. 

“What do you say?” Jean-Paul said, smiling broadly. 

“You want us to move in together?” Kyle repeated, still in disbelief.

Jean-Paul dug into his pocket and pulled out a key. He held it up to Kyle. “This isn’t final,” he said quickly. “But I’ve been looking around. I saw this place and immediately thought of you. If you don’t like it, that’s fine. There are lots of places to choose from. We’ll find the perfect one.” 

“I haven’t agreed yet,” Kyle said, finally finding his voice. 

“So . . . agree.” 

“You’re always rushing into things,” Kyle told him, but he was also reaching for the key. He held it between his fingers, his eyes dancing. 

“Northstar only has one speed,” Logan spoke up. The other two looked at him, momentarily forgetting that he was there. “I bet when Aurora hired Kyle to work with you, your sister had no idea that she was setting you up.” 

Jean-Paul laughed good-naturedly, but Kyle looked at Logan and said in all seriousness, “I’m the best thing that happened to him.” 

“No arguments from me, babe,” Jean-Paul agreed, grinning like an idiot.

They drank a toast to the next step in Kyle and Jean-Paul’s relationship and Logan looked to his left, where his Scott-hallucination sat quietly observing the goings-on. He flashed Logan a smile when he caught Logan’s eye. Logan had felt Scott’s presence acutely throughout the afternoon, even though he knew that Scott actually wasn’t there and had hardly said more than a few words to him. Logan couldn’t explain it, but Scott felt more real than ever to him, as though the other man’s presence were a physical, tangible force.

Sitting opposite Jean-Paul and Kyle and witnessing the flourishing of their relationship also made Logan aware of what was lost to him. Compared to Jean-Paul and Kyle, he and Scott would’ve had a head start. They had already lived in the same place, in the same wing of the mansion with just a handful of rooms separating them. They had worked together as well, had been teammates for longer than Logan once would’ve thought possible. And unlike Kyle and Jean-Paul’s difficulties that arose from their different situations – Kyle was a civilian, while Jean-Paul was not – Scott and Logan had both been X-Men. They’d both taken the same risks, had understood the dangers of what they’d done, had had each other’s backs out in the field. There had been trust between them, trust that had been _earned_.

 _Yes_ , Logan thought absently. _They would’ve made it work. From teammates to friends to lovers. They would’ve made it work._ He reached for his wine glass and gulped down the rest of his wine, aware of Scott’s gaze on him the entire time.

* * *

“You’re not driving back tonight, are you?” Jean-Paul asked, when he and Logan said their farewells at the front door. 

“After Kyle’s cooking, yer lucky I’m not in a food coma,” Logan said. “Besides, traffic will be better tomorrow.” 

“When’re you heading back to Westchester? Got any plans for New Year?” 

“You invitin’ me to Aurora’s big shindig?” 

Jean-Paul shrugged, but he was grinning. “Seemed like the polite thing to do,” he replied. “But if you’re back in Westchester by then I’m sure the X-Men will have a big shindig of their own.” 

“Moving in together, Jean-Paul. _That’s_ a big commitment,” Logan said, seemingly out of the blue. 

“You don’t approve?”

“Didn’t say that. You and Kyle have been together for what . . . three? Four years? Timing feels right. Hell of a Christmas present to ambush your boyfriend with, though.” 

Jean-Paul laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t really think that part through,” he admitted. “And I didn’t mean to do it in front of an audience either.” 

It was Logan’s turn to shrug. “Well, it worked.” He extended his hand. “Thanks for inviting me over, Jean-Paul. Lunch was good.” 

Jean-Paul accepted the proffered hand but instead of returning the handshake, he yanked a surprised Logan into a hug. “Thanks for coming,” he said, when he released Logan. “I didn’t like the thought of you being alone and brooding in your cabin during Christmas.”

Logan inadvertently glanced at Scott. “Wouldn’t have been brooding,” he said, wondering if Jean-Paul thought it was strange that he kept looking to his left or to his right at seemingly nothing. 

If Jean-Paul was wondering, he didn’t say anything. “Let me know about New Year,” he reminded Logan. “You know that Aurora would be happy to see you.” 

“I think I owe Puck some money,” Logan mused. 

Jean-Paul waved the debt away. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Puck’s not gonna ask you to pay up on New Year’s _Eve_.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

* * *

Back at the hotel, Logan made an effort to change and get ready for bed. He’d somehow managed to stave off the food coma, but there was no way he’d be eating dinner. Kyle had insisted on packing leftovers, which Logan had stuffed into the little fridge of his hotel room. The food would keep, despite the long drive, and Logan wouldn’t have to think about what to eat for the next day or two. 

“Did you cook?” he asked Scott as he climbed into bed. Some part of him always wondered how his unconscious would answer those questions. Most of the time, he knew what Summers would say, but for the stuff they’d never touched upon in real life . . . well, that would be Logan’s imagination at work, right? Desires spoken out loud? 

Scott was sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas. “I was decent,” he said. 

“Pot roast decent?” 

Scott hedged. “Better than pot roast decent,” he admitted. 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “So, you could really cook,” he translated. “Not just throw things on a barbecue or in a frying pan.” 

“I was decent,” Scott said again. 

“Kyle good?” 

“In the beginning,” Scott said, “when the Professor had only a handful of students – the Original Five, we were called – we’d all chip in preparing the Christmas meal. Even as teenagers, we could’ve given Kyle a run for his money.”

Logan marveled at that bit of history and how his imagination had come up with _that_. The Original Five. Two of them were gone now. 

“I wish I could kiss you,” he blurted out suddenly. “That’s how our first date should end.” 

“You think you’d get to first base on our first date?” 

“Yep.”

Scott chuckled, shifting closer to where Logan was propped up on the pillows against the headboard. “Maybe you can’t kiss me,” he conceded. “But you could give me a show.” His eyes flicked to the bedside table and to the small bottle of oil that Logan had taken from the bathroom and placed there. “You could use your imagination,” he said suggestively. 

“Even dead, you’re a god damned cock tease, Summers,” Logan growled, but he was already uncapping the oil and pouring a small amount onto his palm. He put the bottle back and in a single motion, reached into his boxers and fisted himself. 

“Pull down your pajama pants and boxers,” Scott ordered. “I want to see.”

The command was like a shot of heat to his groin and Logan’s cock twitched, a sliver of pre-come leaking from the tip. With his other hand, he tugged at his boxers and pajama bottoms, getting the material past his hips and halfway down his thighs. Scott was so near him now that if he’d been real, Logan would’ve felt the heat of Scott’s body against his own. He continued to work his hand over his cock, his gaze locked onto Scott’s face even if he couldn’t see behind the ruby quartz glasses. 

“What are you thinking of?” Scott asked. 

“You.” 

“My hand?” 

“Your mouth.”

Scott moved over him and Logan felt nothing but air. Still, he automatically spread his legs, allowing the Scott-hallucination to settle between them, his hands ghosting over Logan’s thighs, his face only centimeters away from Logan’s cock. 

“Like this?” Scott queried. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Logan muttered, his hand moving more rapidly. There wasn’t gonna be any finesse tonight. He was jerking himself off hard and fast. 

Scott opened his mouth, mimicking licking a stripe up Logan’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Logan said again, before he was spilling into his hand. 

“That was quick,” Scott commented.

Logan sighed, reaching for the tissue on the bedside table and cleaning his hand with it. “How can I hold back,” he asked in return, “when you do shit like that?” 

Scott sat up and Logan willed feeling the heat from Scott’s body, willed the pressure and weight against his legs from where Scott was settled. His Scott-hallucination leaned over him, stretching out his left hand. 

“Sleep, Logan,” Scott said, his ghostly fingertips brushing across Logan’s eyes. 

Logan shut his eyes in response. He thought he could feel the faintest touch against his skin, but knew that was simply his highly active imagination.

* * *

White. Everything was a blinding white. The walls of the room that Logan was in. The silk bedsheets of the bed in which he was lying. The boxer shorts, which were the only item of clothing that Logan was wearing. 

White, white and more white. 

The first thought that crossed his mind was that he was in a sensory deprivation chamber. Except in his experience, those chambers didn’t contain king-sized beds and silk sheets. His head throbbed. He placed a hand against his temple, as though the action would diminish the throbbing. How could he have a hangover? He hadn’t drunk enough at Kyle and Jean-Paul’s place for that. 

“Not a hangover,” a voice confirmed. “And not a sensory deprivation chamber either.”

Logan bolted upright, his throbbing headache cursing at him. He _knew_ that voice. “Jean?” he said, looking around him a little wildly. His gaze settled on her sitting to the far right of him. She was wearing a white, sleeveless shift dress, sitting in a white office chair with her legs crossed. She wore white high heels. Her brilliant red hair stood out starkly against the white. It was the only color in the room. 

“Hello, Logan,” Jean said calmly, with a half-smile, half-smirk that Logan remembered so well. It made something in his heart ache. “I apologize for the headache,” she added. “It’s a typical side effect of bringing you here.” 

Said headache had slowly begun to subside and Logan swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold against his bare feet. “And where’s here?” he asked, a little warily. 

“The White Hot Room.” 

“That explains the color,” Logan muttered. He continued to eye Jean suspiciously. “Are ya real, Jeannie?” he asked at last. “Or is this my unconscious taking me for another spin? You’ve visited me before, y’know.” 

“In your dreams,” Jean supplied. 

Logan remained silent. 

“This isn’t a dream, Logan.” 

“So, you’re real.” 

“In a manner of speaking.” 

“That just sounds like ‘no.’” 

Jean laughed at his stubbornness. “I understand your skepticism,” she conceded. 

“Are you alive?” Logan asked suddenly, trying a different track.

Real. Not real. What did that word even mean anymore? Logan had no business talking about reality given that he’d spent about a month in the company of a Scott-hallucination and was actively trying to have a relationship with said hallucination. The fuck did he know about reality? 

“No,” Jean said, with crushing finality. “If it’s easier, you can think of the White Hot Room as the afterlife,” she suggested. 

“Heaven?”

“Not quite that either,” Jean admitted. “But I suppose the white gives off those connotations.” She smiled warmly at Logan. “More accurately,” she went on. “The White Hot Room is a nexus, a place that exists outside of space and time, a place where timestreams can and do intersect.” 

“How’d you wind up here?” 

Jean titled her head. “Now _that_ ,” she said, “is a long story. But in the White Hot Room, we have all the time in the world.” She stood up. “Would you like to get dressed?” she offered. “Have a cup of coffee?”

Logan felt disoriented in the White Hot Room. He had no sense of time. Was it day or night? Was he even still on earth? Another dimension? Outer space? There were no windows to give him some bearings. Physical space, too, was difficult to calculate. It was probably only several meters between where Jean was sitting and the bed, but beyond that Logan had no sense of the size of the room that they were in. No sooner had he agreed to getting dressed and a cup of coffee than the space around them began to change. A feeling of vertigo washed over him so that he gripped his stomach, shut his eyes, and consciously tried to hold down Kyle’s Christmas lunch. 

When the vertigo passed and Logan opened his eyes again, he was sitting down at the head of a long white table, though he didn’t remember standing up, much less walking anywhere. A quick glance down told him that he was also dressed. The long-sleeved white linen shirt (the two top buttons stylishly undone) and white linen pants didn’t surprise him either. They had Jean’s trademark all over them. She had probably dressed Scott too.

Jean was seated at the other end of the long table. Two unlit silver candle holders and a flower arrangement (white roses) were the only items between them. Logan thought that the distance was intentional. In front of him was a white cup and saucer made of fine bone china. The dark liquid of the coffee swirled in the cup. 

“I remember that you take your coffee black,” Jean told him. “But I can get sugar if you like.” 

“Black’s fine,” Logan said. He picked up the cup. It felt too dainty and fragile in his hand. He drank, letting out a sigh of satisfaction when he put the cup back down. 

“Good?” 

“Very good.” 

He sat back in his seat. He thought the straight-backed dining chair would be uncomfortable, and was surprised to discover that it was not. 

“Tell me, Jeannie,” he said, arms now on top of the armrests. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Scott,” Jean answered. “But first, I have to tell you my story.” She paused. “You never killed me, Logan. On Ryker’s Island? In that final battle against Magneto? That wasn’t me. Just like I never killed Scott at Alkali Lake.” 

“Is Scott dead?” Logan asked suddenly, a flare of hope rising inside him. 

“Yes,” Jean said, extinguishing Logan’s hope instantly. “But I’m going to give him back to you, Logan. One day, he’ll join me here in the White Hot Room, but that day is far into the future. He has a lot of work ahead of him, for our race and for humankind. And you’re going to help him with it.”

Logan had so many questions. None of what Jean was saying was making any sense, and his brain had semi short-circuited at the idea that Jean was going to give Scott back to him (How? _How_ could she do that?), but he retained his focus. 

“Wait, wait,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Go back. Whaddya mean that wasn’t you at Ryker’s Island? At Alkali Lake? Who the hell was that if it wasn’t you?” 

“It was the Phoenix,” Jean explained. “More correctly, an avatar of me that the Phoenix had created.”

“And what’s the Phoenix?” Logan asked, already dreading the answer. 

Jean smiled, as though she were reading his mind. (She probably was.) “Would you believe a cosmic entity?” 

“Do I have a choice?” 

“No.” Jean laughed again. “It was the Phoenix Force that saved me at Alkali Lake,” she explained. “It was looking for a host, and it heard my cry for help as the waters of the dam drowned me. It heard my cry for help and it saved me. It chose me to be its host, and it created an avatar in my place, which slept at the bottom of the lake until Scott woke it. This place,” Jean went on, gesturing at their pristine surroundings. “The White Hot Room is the nexus for all the hosts of the Phoenix, both past and present, and the hosts to come.”

“Scott,” Logan said, remembering what Jean had said about Scott joining her. “Ya mean that Scott is also goin’ to be a . . . a host? . . . for this Phoenix?” 

“Scott will have many encounters with the Phoenix,” Jean said. “Some good, some bad. The Phoenix is also very fond of him.” 

“And what did ya mean when you said that you were goin’ to give him back to me, Jeannie? How can you do that?” 

“The Phoenix is an endless cycle of death and rebirth, of destruction and creation. It gives me the power to bring Scott back.” Jean shook her head. “There is almost nothing the Phoenix Force _can’t_ do.” 

That answer begged another set of questions, but Logan refrained. He didn’t want to go off-topic.

“My hallucinations of Scott,” Logan went on. “Those weren’t in my head, were they? _You_ were controlling them.” 

“Yes and no,” Jean hedged. “You controlled more than you realize. Scott’s appearance. What he wore, how he looked. That came from you. When Scott appeared and disappeared, how much time you spent with him – that was all you. _How_ you interacted, what Scott said? That was me.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You thought that your conversations with Scott, your interactions with him were simply a manifestation of your desire, of a fantasy world come to life. I don’t deny that,” Jean replied. “But I’m also saying that your interactions with him _were_ real. I channeled Scott’s consciousness for you, even though he didn’t possess a physical form. All of his answers, all of his feelings were his own. Isn’t that why, Logan, you were so surprised by the detail of his blue eyes? That wasn’t something you could’ve known. That wasn’t even something you fantasized about. You imagined warm, chocolate-brown eyes to match his chocolate-brown hair.”

The revelation stunned Logan into silence. Scott had been real all along. _REAL_. He replayed their conversations, their activities, the time they had spent together over the past month. All of it had been _real_. His heart was thudding in his chest. What had Jean said? She would give Scott back to him. What now? What would happen now? 

“What happens now?” he asked aloud. 

“I suppose that’s up to you and Scott,” she said. Then she laughed. “I look forward to what story you’ll tell Hank and Storm, and the rest of the X-Men.” 

“Thank you, Jeannie,” Logan said sincerely. “Will I see you again?” 

“Not here,” Jean replied. “But maybe . . . maybe in the future.” 

“Will Scott remember the time we spent together?”

“Every moment.” Jean smiled. “Don’t worry, Logan. I’m not giving you a blank slate.” 

Logan was going to say something else, but that feeling of vertigo came over him again, stronger than before. He gripped his head as the room spun and he lost consciousness.

* * *

When Logan came to again, he was groggy and he still had a headache. He groaned. 

“Check out’s at noon,” a voice reminded him. “Unless you plan on paying for another day.” 

It was déjà vu as Logan bolted upright, looking for that familiar voice, his encounter with Jean in the White Hot Room coming back to him in a rush. _Had that been a dream?_ he wondered. _Was Scott really_ here? 

The man in question was at the foot of the queen-sized bed, folding one of Logan’s shirts and packing it into his overnight duffel.

“Scott?” Logan said. He scrambled ungracefully down the bed, immediately grabbing Scott’s arm and stilling the other man’s actions. The wrist in his hand was firm and strong. It felt real enough. “Scott?” he said again. His vocabulary appeared to have deserted him. 

Scott didn’t reply, just tilted his head slightly as he looked back at Logan. Then he was leaning forward, his free hand gripping Logan under the chin and lifting Logan’s face towards him. When he slotted their lips together, Logan couldn’t even comprehend that he was being kissed.

“A bit late for our first kiss,” Scott was saying when he pulled away, but Logan didn’t let him finish his sentence. He grabbed Summers by the waist and pulled him down. “Oh, hey,” Scott said in surprise as he landed on top of Logan, straddling the other man. He was probably going to say something else, but it was Logan’s turn to yank him down into another kiss, and not a chaste close-mouthed kiss like the one Scott had given him. Logan’s kiss was heat and wetness, hunger and desire. Scott matched him, and it was only when Logan reached for the zipper of Scott’s fly that the other man stopped him.

“Hang on,” Scott said. “You really want to do this now?” 

“Why not?” Logan questioned, the idea of _not_ doing it now making zero sense to him. 

“Because we have to check out in about thirty minutes.” 

“Really, Summers?” 

“Do you want to stay another night? Because I’d much rather do this in your cabin.” 

“That’s a five and a half hour drive!” 

“We’ve waited this long, Logan,” Scott said patiently. “Are you telling me that you can’t wait another five and a half hours?” 

“Not if I don’t have to!”

Scott was laughing as he sat up, and Logan savored the weight of him. Scott was _real_. A physical, tangible presence that Logan could reach out and touch. In fact, Logan couldn’t seem to stop touching him, as if Scott would disappear if Logan let go, even for a second. 

“We can share driving duties this time,” Scott said, climbing off the bed.

Logan followed him, still unwilling to let go. Scott didn’t need telepathy to know what was going through Logan’s mind. He reached down and grasped Logan’s hand, holding it firmly. 

“I remember everything,” he told Logan. “And I’m not going to disappear like a puff of smoke. You heard Jean. We have a lot of work to do. So, go take and shower and change, so we can get on the road as soon as possible. The sooner we get back to your cabin, the sooner we can . . .” he trailed off. 

Logan met Scott’s even gaze thinking, _He has blue eyes_. What he said aloud was, “Yer still bossy.” Then, he let go of Scott’s hand and began walking to the bathroom. 

“You like me that way!” Scott called after him. 

Logan grinned to himself, knowing that Scott wouldn’t see. He couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

Logan collapsed onto the blanket in front of the fireplace, his heart still racing. Scott had brought the duvet from the bedroom, so they were warm and cozy underneath it. 

They hadn’t even made it to the bedroom. Logan had ambushed Scott as soon as the front door was shut behind them. They’d made it as far as the couch, which is where they had done it the first time. And the second time. After a short break, Scott had given Logan a proper blowjob. No more rubbing one out while imagining Scott’s lips around his cock. 

“You have cock-sucking lips, Summers,” Logan had said, one hand running through Scott’s hair. 

As if to prove his point, Summers smirked around Logan’s girth, before bearing down again, earning a groan of pleasure from Wolverine.

For the third round, Scott had put a blanket on the floor and brought out the duvet. The cushions from the sofa were now on the floor as well. Their clothes were strewn about them, some items on the couch, the rest on the floor. Logan could already imagine Scott picking up after them when they were finally sexed out. If Logan had his way, that wouldn’t be for a while yet. He wrapped Scott in his embrace, spooning behind him, and not feeling any need to speak. But just as Scott was dozing off, Logan found himself saying: 

“When do you want to head back to Westchester?” 

“When were _you_ planning to head back?” Scott asked in return. “Before or after the New Year?” 

“Hadn’t decided yet,” Logan admitted. 

“Were you giving Aurora’s party some thought?” 

“Not really,” Logan said. “I was thinking more of spending a quiet New Year with you. _Before_ you were real,” he added.

Scott chuckled. “Now that I _am_ real,” he said. “That sounds even better.” He turned slightly so that he could look at Logan, and Logan loosened his embrace to allow the action. “We _should_ have this time to ourselves,” Scott said seriously. “It’s the calm before the storm. Things will be crazy when we get back to Westchester.” 

Logan traced one of Scott’s fine cheekbones with his fingertips. “You handle crazy really well, Cyke,” he observed.

Scott smiled, shifting all the way so that he was facing Logan. He nestled his head against the other man, taking care not to jab Logan with his glasses. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmured, feeling Logan’s grip tighten around his back again. 

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The merry mutants belong to Marvel. No offence is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
